


Just Us

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, Holiday, Humor, M/M, None - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has been keeping a secret, and it leads to several epiphanies for Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Us

## Just Us

#### by Aouda Fogg

  
They aren't mine, of course. They belong to TPTB. No infringement or disrespect intended, no money being made.   
Innumerable thanks to Annie in Australia and Alyjude for helping me whip this into shape and for encouraging me to keep going.  
This story started out as a cross between a wacky idea about a TS fanfic cliche and several challenges on the Sentinel Thursdays LJ community . . .and then it grew! This is my first long story, and my first, "mystery to be solved" story, so I'd welcome any comments and constructive criticism. :)  


* * *

The loft looked normal. The light in the corner was on and, along with the glow from the fire, meant everything was bathed in warm, yellow light that made the whole room look homey, something he had come to appreciate. Things smelled right: his scent, Blair's, and, since it was almost Christmas and he was a nice guy, pine from the huge tree Blair had wanted. It even _sounded_ right, with the regular noises from pipes, other apartments, and traffic melding to create the "loft" sound. 

He blinked one more time just to make sure. 

Everything still looked normal. Reality did not seem to have changed. 

He looked over at his partner, who was still sitting next to him, on a couch that had not changed color or texture, looking at him expectantly. 

Jim threw in one more blink. Just to make really, really sure. 

Nothing dissolved, faded out, or revealed itself to be Old Man Smithers yelling about pesky kids. 

Which was too bad, really. He'd always had a bit of soft spot for Scooby Doo. 

"Chief, I don't know whether I need to run you over to St. Luke's for a psych eval, or if I'm the one going insane." 

"I know it sounds far-fetched, but it's true." 

He unclenched his jaw. "And you expect me to believe this?" 

"You believe in Sentinels." 

"Sentinels aren't myths." 

Blair rolled his eyes dramatically. Uh, yeah, right. 

Really not sure what to say next, James Joseph Ellison dropped his head to his hands and pressed his fingers into his eyes. It felt good. Clinging to the concreteness of the feel of this fingers, he asked the first question that came to mind. "Why are you bringing this up now? You never thought to bring this little idea up before? Or did you just feel my life needed more craziness in it?" 

Blair swallowed. "Well, see, there's evidently some kind of problem back, uh, back there." 

"Uh, huh. And they called upon you because . . . ?" He let his voice trail off to a question, not sure if going along with this, if talking like he actually _believed_ what Blair had just said was the wise thing to do, but since it seemed more viable than walking around and worrying about having to run into walls, he'd go with it. 

"Yeah, I mean, they all know what's been going on with me, us, you know, the career change, and I think they feel like having a sent--" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." That brought Jim's head up. He stared hard at his partner. "Wait just a damned minute. You're telling me they know about, about . . . ." 

"About you?" Blair prompted facetiously. "Yes, Jim. They know. They've always known, I'd say. Actually, it was the library there where I first came across reference to sentinels. Unfortunately, their tastes tend more towards art and artistry, that kind of stuff, rather than humans with enhanced senses, so I just found the one mention. Still, their library is where I fell in love with books, and with exploring other cultures, and where I first got hooked on the idea of Sentinels." 

Sandburg's matter-of-fact tone started to lull Jim towards calmness, but what the younger man had confessed a few minutes ago wouldn't let him settle. "This is too much." 

"I know it's a lot to take in." 

"And you really expect me to believe this?" God knew he'd had more than enough practice at doubting his partner and dismissing things he said, but Ellison had been working on that. Actually, he'd promised himself he'd make a habit of _trusting_ Blair instead of distrusting him, but come on. 

"Yes." Blair's simple reply was all the more powerful in its quietness. 

"You want me to believe you're an elf?" Jim asked, flatly. 

"It's the truth, man, bizarre as all this is." 

The warmth of Blair's hand on his knee somehow managed to quiet most of the buzzing in his ears. What really started to convince him, however, was the calm truth he could see in Blair's eyes. It finally occurred to him that he could double-check with his senses, so he cast them out and didn't find anything to contradict what Blair had said -- a little bit of a racing heartbeat, but since he could also see the younger man's hands shaking, that was more of a fear response than anything. Other than that, there were no other signs or smells of him being disingenuous, or even of pulling a practical joke. The wisp of scent that he knew was `concerned Blair,' or maybe it was `worried Blair,' seemed mostly directed at him, but he could've found that out just by looking at the expression in his partner's eyes. Done cataloguing the evidence, Jim tried to push his brain into gear. "But I've seen your ears. They aren't pointy. And you make more noise in the forest than an elephant." 

Blair laughed, and Jim realized that the secret thought he'd always had about his roommate's laughter being magical suddenly had a whole new meaning. 

"Yeah, well, a) I'm only one-quarter, and b), uh, I don't know what b is, but, Jim, I'm not going to start spouting Quenya, ok? Legolas is not my cousin. Though I do like lembas." 

"That's not funny." 

"Oh, come on, it is a little!" 

Blair's grin invited him to share the joke, but he didn't feel like playing along at the moment. He'd moved from shocked straight to pissed. "You'll excuse me if I don't find this whole thing amusing. My partner, who has been keeping a secret about me for almost five fucking years, something pretty basic to who I am, suddenly pops up with a secret that seems just as fundamental for himself." He stopped the angry flow of words by clenching his teeth. Fear based reactions. Fighting falling back into that pattern, and taking a deep breath, he asked, deliberately speaking quietly, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" 

This time it was Blair rubbing his face with this hands. "I've never felt good about that, man, it's just one of those things that's a little hard to bring up. I mean, when was I going to mention it? Over stir-fry one night? While we were chasing a suspect? `Oh, hey, Jim, by the way? Elf.' Even during the mess with my diss, it just seemed like it was one thing too many. And it's a weird thing; it both is and isn't important to who I am. I mean, I don't think about it much in my day-to-day life, but I, well, I love giving presents, you know? And then there's the fact that it's what makes large chunks of my childhood hard to talk about. And the therapy when I was a kid? Yeah, you try and deal with the fact that you _know_ you're an elf, an elf like kids talk about, and its seriously cool, but you can't mention it to _anyone_ because when you do, teachers start talking about vivid imaginations and move rapidly into `detached from reality.' It sucked hard, Jim." 

Sitting back into the couch, Jim considered that. He could feel some of his anger leeching away in the face of Blair's honesty. "Kind of like being considered a freak, huh?" 

"Yeah." 

He knew that kind of fear and hiding all too well. Consciously deciding to let that issue go for the moment, he took a different tack. "Ok, Chief, I can tell you believe this, and, oddly, this explains a lot about your mother, but do you have any proof? I mean--" 

"What like a pair of pointy shoes?" There went that grin again, asking him to see humor in this. "I hate to tell you this, man, but those are just for the publicity shots." 

Completely non-plussed, Jim fell back on blinking. "What?" 

"Think about it, man," Blair said, his tone slipping into what Jim had classified as his "teacher voice." "What better way to make sure people won't actually _see_ them than to make them think they need to be looking for cute, little, sprightly things with stripy stockings, pointy shoes, and overalls? So they put out a little disinformation, created an image, and go about their business." 

"Uh..." 

"This way they can actually hide in plain sight! It's all part of the magic." 

Not feeling ready to delve any deeper into that side of things, Jim went for the distraction. "Ok, so, then, what do they look like?" 

"Like humans, only shorter." 

"So that's where you get it, huh?" 

"Bite me, big guy." 

Jim laughed, feeling more than a little relieved that at least _this_ hadn't changed; he could still trade insults with Blair. "So, ah, speaking of him --" 

"Who?" 

"The Big Guy." 

"Oh, the Boss, right, gotcha; what about him?" 

"I can't believe I'm going to say this -- and I can't believe that I actually _believe_ you -- but what's his problem?" 

"Oh, apparently things are disappearing, and he could use some help figuring out who's doing it." 

"There isn't a police force or something?" 

"Never been a need before, apparently." 

"So, he wants us to, uh, go there?" 

"Probably a lot easier to figure things out that way, don't you think? Scene of the crime, quote, unquote." 

"Thank you, Arlo. It really exists?" 

"It really exists." 

"Pardon me while I sit here and have my world view shift." Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him thought hyper-ventilating sounded just dandy, and part of him wanted to ask a thousand questions. 

"Deep breaths help, Jim." 

The warm hand on his leg was back, and that helped much more than deep breaths. The taller cop appreciated it. He let its reassuring weight settle the parts of him that had been really worried that either Blair or he had gone around the bend. "Simon is going to jump out with a video camera, right?" he finally asked, almost hoping. 

"Nope, this isn't a joke." 

"And you're really --" 

"I really am, Jim. I am, technically, one of Santa's elves." 

* * *

Jim took another sip of the water Blair had gotten him. He liked water. Water was good. He tried focusing on that for a moment, but as he slid the now empty glass onto the coffee table, another damned thought intruded. 

"But you're Jewish." The protest definitely had just the slightest edge of whine shading it. 

"Hey, Santa's an equal opportunity employer." 

"What?" 

"How do you suppose he knows the cultures and the presents for children all over the world? He's hired elves from all over, and the exchange programs mean the elves spend time in places from Arlington to Zanzibar." 

Only his partner would be able to pull an A-Z place name reference out that quickly. And people wondered why he was losing his hair. Yet, in spite of everything, James Ellison knew he wouldn't change a thing about the man sitting next to him. Except maybe the fascination with algae shakes. Still, that was mostly livable, he figured, even if the other man was, apparently, not quite human. "Hey, is the algae an elf thing?" 

"Whoa, non-sequitur." 

Jim grinned at Blair's flummoxed reaction, feeling proud to shift the proverbial shoe to Blair's proverbial food. "Sorry, I was just thinking that even with the latest revelation, you're still a good guy to have around, except maybe for those heinous shakes, so I thought maybe they were an elf thing." 

"Nope, I think the shakes are a Blair thing. Comes with the territory." 

"I was afraid of that. I was hoping maybe I could get a special dispensation from Santa disallowing them from the loft. You know, a special present in exchange for services rendered." 

"You're gonna be SOL on this one, my brother." 

"A guy can dream." 

Both men quieted for a few minutes and just sat, both collapsed back into the couch. Both of their minds raced over the last few minutes, and Jim felt still more of his surprise and shock fade in the face of the solidity of the loft, the man beside him, and Blair's ability to give him shit even over algae shakes. For his part, Blair focused mostly on breathing; he's been dreading this revelation for years, and now that it was over, and Jim had neither blown a gasket nor immediately thrown him out, his whole body could feel relief dismantling walls he hadn't fully realized were such a part of him. 

Blair started to follow the thought, wondering what kinds of walls still existed in his mind, when Jim's voice called him back. 

"Did you say something about an exchange program? And don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't given me details of this little `problem' that we're supposed to investigate." 

"I haven't forgotten, I'll tell you what I know, but to answer your question, yes, elves go out, spend time in communities all over the world, learn the customs, traditions, skills, whatever, and then usually go back to the Workshop and become specialists in that region or skill. My grandfather was out on a mission in Minnesota, from what I understand, when he met my grandmother." 

"Naomi's parents?" 

"Yep." Blair nodded. "I guess my grandfather was going to stay in the Outside world, which is fine with everyone, although it doesn't happen all _that_ often; more human spouses move up there than the other way around. Anyway, he even married my grandmother, but right after my mom was born, she left. It's not like it's his favorite topic, but from what little Opa has told me, she decided that being a wife and mother was way too much work, so she walked out and headed to California." 

"So, what, your grandfather took your mom back to -- Christ, this sounds surreal -- to the North Pole?" 

"Everyone pretty much calls it the `Workshop,' Jim. Way easier. Less attention getting, too. But, yeah. Mom was raised up there, and to hear Mom's side of it, he was really over-protective and determined she wasn't going to turn out `flighty,'" he made quote gestures in the air, "like her mother." 

"So, of course, being the person Naomi is, she perceived it only as restraint and took off the first chance she could." 

"Got it in one. That must be why they call you Detective." 

"Yeah, that and the shiny badge." 

"So, you got any other questions before I tell you what I know about why they contacted me?" 

"Uhmm, how about explaining how it is that I'm 40 years old, sitting in the living room of the loft I own, sitting next to my partner on the police force, and I'm suddenly believing in Santa again? No, wait, not only _believing,_ but talking about going _to see_ him." 

"Uh, life is never dull when there's a Sandburg around?" 

"You can say that again." He watched, amused, as Blair restrained himself from actually repeating himself. Even as he enjoyed the laugher in his guide's eyes, Jim refused to consider just what his life would be like without Blair in it. That way lay madness and falling back into his old patterns of doubting everything and focusing too much on the negative "coulds." He wondered feelingly if his partner had noticed the fact that he'd been trying to change his thinking. Asking directly wasn't something he was willing to do, however; the niggling thought that he was still too much of a pain in the ass for Blair to notice a change was too worrying. Which, of course, meant he was still focusing on negatives . . . 

Pulling himself away from that moebius strip, he focused back on Blair, who was now staring back at him, a frown dampening the fading amusement in his eyes. 

"Hey, Jim, if this is too much, I can get us out of it, or go up there myself, I guess." His gaze drifted off into space and Jim could see the wheels turning as he tried to work out new logistics. "Yeah, I could do that." 

"Chief, I'm not wanting to get out of it, ok? Just a moment of reflection. Ah! Ah! Don't say it! I can reflect. I can even ruminate." 

Blair cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry; who are you? I was hoping to talk to my partner, Jim Ellison? Do you know him?" 

Jim flipped him off. With both hands. 

"Alrighty then, now that we know why you're Detective of the Year material, you want to hear why we're being asked to come to the North Pole?" 

"Thought you said everyone calls it the `Workshop.'" 

"I was trying to speak in layman's terms for you." 

"Gosh, thanks." 

"No problem, Jim, now shut up so I can tell you what's going on before we get picked up!" 

"Picked up?" 

"What, you thought we could just walk up there?" 

"Got to admit I hadn't gotten to that part yet." 

"Yeah, well, it's under control. So back to the matter at hand. Like I said, a bunch of stuff keeps disappearing. Not all of one kind of toy or whatever, just a bunch of them. Sometimes the missing items turn up in another workshop or room, sometimes they don't. A few key supplies -- like medium-sized gears or all the red hair for dolls -- have vanished, too. As you'd expect, there's a pretty good security system up there," Blair didn't let Jim's grunt of agreement interrupt him, "so they're pretty sure it's not someone breaking in." 

"So it looks like an inside job. Which means, what, elves, Mrs. Claus, the reindeer, and a few penguins?" 

"Penguins are a southern hemisphere animal, Jim. But unless the polar bears have suddenly united under a flag of anti-Santa sentiment, yeah, pretty much the elves and their families, and, well, Santa's son, I guess, but I don't think that's very likely; Nikola is a good guy." 

"Santa has a son?" 

"Yep, but we can talk about him later. For the moment, you might want to grab your heavy coat and a toothbrush." 

"Oh, yeah, right," Jim got up, mentally making a list of other things to toss in a bag as he headed up the stairs: white noise generator, his heaviest gloves, camera? Jim turned half-way up the stairs. "And, Chief, you should grab those thermals you got from Adventure 16, remember? Oh, shit." 

The epithet made Blair pop his head out of the French doors. "What's wrong?" 

"We can't go kiting off to the North Pole, Sandburg. We have a little thing called `reporting to work' to do tomorrow. I think Simon's going to notice if we just don't show up." 

Blair started looking a little uncomfortable again. 

Leery about what was coming, Jim asked cautiously, "What?" His worries didn't ease as he watched Blair fidget before answering. 

"I don't think we really need to worry about that, Jim. You know Santa's magical, right?" 

"I've heard rumors," Jim replied, acerbically. 

"Yeah, so, since he needs us, it'll just kind of . . . happen. Simon might remember that he granted us some more holiday time, or the Chief might decide that those two big open cases we have should've been handled by Homicide all along. And, well, the Boss can kind of stretch time, you know? I mean, how else would he be able to make it to all those houses, right?" 

"So between bending time and magical schedule shuffling, you're saying we're covered." 

"Yes." 

"Wow, Special Forces had nothing on the guy. Don't look so shocked, Sandburg; I can go with the flow." 

Blair stopped fidgeting and tapping the door jamb with his foot. "Yeah, Jim, I know. Thanks. I'm, I'm really looking forward to showing you around up there." 

"I'm just hoping for some great cookies," Jim tossed back over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs. "And put those thermals on; I'm not listening to any bitching about how cold you are." 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." 

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Jim Ellison was still stuck between the urge to laugh hysterically and freeze in shock. But at least he was enjoying himself, he told himself, bracingly. Right? 

At the moment, he was speeding high above what was probably Alberta -- that glow off to the right had to be Edmonton -- and he didn't know what they put in the reindeers' Wheaties, but man, the little suckers could move fast. 

And there were only two of them guiding this sleigh. 

He and Blair were sitting in the back against comfortable cushions and under a couple of really nice blankets while an elf manned -- elfed? -- the reins. The small bells on the reindeers' harnesses lent just the right melody for being under a deeply black sky filled with more stars than he'd ever seen in his life. 

Not sure whether to continue to just sit back and enjoy this ride or to ask a few thousand questions, he compromised and asked a question about the sleigh. "Hey, Chief, how come no one sees a sleigh cutting across the night sky?" 

"Magic?" 

"Well, yes, that was my first guess, but could you be any more specific?" 

"Swamp gas?" 

"I'm not Mulder, and you aren't cute enough to be Scully, smart-ass." 

"But I've got the hair, man," Blair pointed out with a impish smile. "I have a feeling it's something about perception, but why don't you ask Rodger? He's the expert." 

Since the suggestion seemed logical, Jim leaned forward and asked the elf sitting a few feet in front of them. 

"Blair is correct." Rodger answered. "It's all about perception. Some people see us as a shooting star, others a plane. Every once in a while, someone reports a UFO, but even the Boss' biggest sleigh is small enough that people just assume it's something else." 

"Uh, so it's kind of like we're all a bunch of Muggles?" Both Rodger and Blair laughed. "Guess that explains how it was you were able to land this rig on the roof of my building without anyone noticing, huh?" 

"Yes, Jim, you're quite right." Rodger turned a bit more in his seat so he could look directly at them. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say Mrs. Kirputnik in 310 was wondering if she should put Buster and FiFi on diets because they were making so much noise on the roof this evening." 

"Maybe she should anyway; those two cats are holy terrors." 

The elf grinned at them and then sobered. "We're glad you're both coming up to look into things for us. We're all worried about all the things that have been going on in the Workshop, and I think a fresh pair of eyes looking into it will help." 

Falling back on the quiet authority of his job was surprisingly easy considering where he was a the moment. "We'll do our best to figure things out for you." 

"Of that I have no doubt. I've known Blair since he was knee high to a pine tree, and if anyone is good at ferreting out answers, it'd be him." The small man slanted a teasing look at Blair. "And since you're his partner, no doubt the same could be said for you." Rodger nodded emphatically. "Now, don't forget that there's hot tea, chocolate, and cider under the seat there, if you'd like some. In about half an hour we'll be flying over Great Slave Lake, which is quite a sight. And then, another 45 minutes or an hour, beyond that, and we'll be there, so sit back and enjoy the night." He turned back around and thwacked the reins, making the bells jingle more loudly for a moment. 

Sliding back against the seat, Jim adjusted the blankets, only to realize that his partner was shivering. "Chief, why didn't you say something?" He pulled the material higher, tucking it in around Blair's shoulders, taking the time make sure it was covering every possible centimeter of his partner. 

Blair sank more deeply into the seat. "Thanks, man, that's excellent." 

"Come on, admit it; you're still cold, aren't you?" 

"It's not that bad." 

"Yeah, right; that's why your teeth are clenched. Why do I have this sneaking suspicion that I have the only endothermic elf partner in the world?" Shifting around in the seat and adjusting the blanket once more, Jim slung his arm around Blair's shoulders. Just to warm the guy up, of course. Blair didn't comment, he just burrowed in a bit. Carefully not thinking about how that gesture of trust made him feel, Jim went back to enjoying the ride. 

* * *

Santa greeted Blair like a long-lost son. 

"Blair, my boy, it's been too long, too long." And then Sandburg had all but disappeared in an all-enveloping hug from the man, quickly followed by an equally all-encompassing hug from Mrs. Claus. 

They were all standing in a massive entry way with the biggest door Jim had ever seen outside of pictures of castles. Intricately carved holly leaves and berries decorated the wood, and the real thing decorated the arch over the door. Tantalizing glimpses of rooms leading off the foyer teased Jim, and he had to restrain himself from exploring them -- and for asking for some of the cookies that he could smell baking in an unseen kitchen. 

Dragging his gaze away from the large staircase at the end of the hallway, Jim got distracted from the wonders around him by the look of pleased surprise on Blair's face and the fact that a man who looked just like Santa but with reddish-brown hair was queuing up for the next hug. Suddenly a warm, solid hand landed on his shoulder. 

"James!" 

He really was jolly. He really did have rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes. He really did wear red. His beard was white and full. He was holding his hand out to shake. Jim shook. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." 

His laugh was actually louder than Blair's. "Now there's something I don't get called very often; Santa or Nick are just fine, son. Well," he clapped his hands. "I hope you enjoyed your trip up here." 

"It was very, uh, interesting, si-Santa." Jim answered, feeling like an ass for being a bit star-struck. "I don't get to travel by sleigh very often, let alone a flying sleigh." 

The laugh rolled across Jim again. "No, not enough people use sleighs now-a-days. Shame, really, because there's nothing like the jingling bells and smooth slide across the snow." Santa pushed a hand out in front of him, imitating a gliding sleigh. "I am sorry I wasn't able to come get you myself, but, as I'm sure Blair told you, things are a bit odd here at the moment, and I didn't think I should leave." 

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, Blair said that there've been some thefts." They began rehashing the details while Blair finished greeting the others, along with a growing group of elves who had come to greet him. Finally, the younger man broke away and came to join the conversation. 

Santa guided them into his study and continued confirming that some of the missing items had shown back up, but in the wrong places. They all sat down in the deep armchairs making a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. 

"We found the red doll hair in the bin under the blond just today. A few days ago, all the small wooden wheels disappeared and then we found them the next day in a closet in the space toys room. Some things haven't reappeared at all. The odd thing is that while all of this has been incredibly frustrating and disheartening, it hasn't done anything but make us fall a little behind, and by working a swing shift, we've recovered nicely." His chest puffed out with pride, then deflated a little. "I think the worst part has been the knowledge that someone is stealing from us!" 

"Do you have any suspects?" 

"Blair, I don't have the foggiest idea of who it could be!" Frustration sharpened his voice. "Like I said in my note, it must be someone here in the complex, because there aren't any signs of the security network being breached from the outside. We've even started patrolling the halls and workshops at night, but whoever is doing this has managed to get past us a couple of times, including last night. I've locked that workshop up and there are elves guarding both entrances. You'll no doubt want to start there in the morning when there's good light." 

A bleak look dimmed the cheery light in his eyes, and Santa shook his head. "I don't want to have to turn my workshops into a prison, or install cameras! Yesterday, someone even brought up the idea of moving to the South Pole, setting up a new Workshop. But that seems a little extreme at this point, and besides, I just hate that thought: too much tradition here. But I just don't understand how it could be one of us. Why would one of my people do this?" 

Jim leaned forward, wishing he could say something that would really comfort the old man. "I don't know, Santa, but I do know that Blair and I will do everything in our power to solve this problem for you." 

The words must've been enough because Santa brightened immediately and slapped his knees. "Thank you; I knew I could count on you. I will leave it in your capable hands, boys." He got up. "I know you've had a long journey, and it's late, so I'll go see about getting you a little snack before bed. I wish we could've gotten you here earlier, so you could start looking at things immediately, but it's much easier to travel in the sleigh at night." 

"Oh, we understand, Nick; it's no problem," Blair reassured him. "I do have a question, though." He slanted a quick look at Jim. "What about work? Do we need to--" 

"All taken care of, my boy!" Santa cut him off. "I've arranged for Simon to have a couple of extra helpers - out of the Chief's Special Project Budget -- for the next few days," Santa grinned proudly. "And since you were going to have the 24th and 25th off anyway, you'll just have a few extra days vacation. Don't worry." He turned to Jim. "No one will notice anything out of the ordinary." 

"Thank you. And I've got to say, if I needed any more proof that you're magical, the fact that you managed to get some money out of that Special Project Budget would have done it for me." 

Santa twiddled his fingers in front of his chest. "All part of the service here at the Workshop. Now, food -- I must say, I wouldn't say no to a little something, myself." They heard him mutter something about getting around Henrietta as he disappeared out the door. 

Jim settled deeper into the chair and looked around at the desk scattered with paper, the mantle covered in pine boughs, and the reindeer-shaped andirons. "Wow. He's, just . . ." 

Blair grinned at him from his own chair and stretched his feet towards the fire. "Yeah, he really is. I don't know how he remembers everyone's name or all the details. I've always loved coming up here to visit." 

"Did you do that a lot?" 

Blair shook his head. "No, not a bunch really. I don't know, every couple years, I guess, until I started at Rainier. Last time was, oh, the summer before I met you." 

Jim gestured out the door. "Was your grandfather out there? Did I miss meeting him?" 

"Like I'd have let you out of that, Jim? Please. Nope, he remarried a few years ago -- remember that wedding I went to in Cor d'Alene? He married a woman from Idaho, met her while he was traveling in France researching lace. I got an email from him a couple of weeks ago, and he said he was spending the holidays with her family this year." 

"I didn't even know you had a grandfather." 

Blair made a sheepish moue with his lips. "Sorry about that. Just hard to answer questions about him without talking about what he does or where he lives, why I don't get to see him very often, and it's not like you wouldn't know I was lying. Naomi and Opa didn't get along real well when I was kid -- I guess when she showed up with me when I was about six months old, things were a little tense, but I think she wanted me to see this place, learn about the magic. But maybe we can come back and visit him. His wife is a nice lady." 

Mrs. Claus came bustling around the corner, a tray full of steaming plates and cups in front of her, Santa trailing along behind. "Oh, yes, she is. Isaac has been much happier since he met Alice a few years back. And such a hand with lace making. She's been wonderful, teaching us new techniques, showing us easier ways of doing things. Now, let's see. I've got tea, and Blair, here are some of your favorite little meat pies." Blair swooped forward with a gleeful laugh and grabbed two. "Now you share, young man. Leave enough for James." 

And then she turned towards Jim and added, "After you fight him off for those, I've made you some mincemeat cookies for dessert." 

Jim felt his mouth drop open and then grinned as she laughed. "I assume mincemeat are still your favorite, then?" 

She handed him the plate, and he took two of the still warm cookies. The mellow spices and tangy sweetness exploded on his tongue, and he sighed happily. "These are the best cookies I've ever had in my life." 

"Thank you, James. Now you two eat up and then off to bed. You'll want to be fresh for the morning. You have your work cut out for you, finding these miscreants." Her eyes narrowed in displeasure, but the look vanished a moment later under a gentle smile. A moment later, she swept out of the room. Two seconds after that, however, she stuck her head back in, just as Santa reached for one of cookies. "I see that, you old man! First off all, those are for James and Blair; second, you've already had four today." 

Abashed, Santa let his hand fall. 

"That's better. Now, you let them get to bed. No keeping them up talking all night." 

"Yes, Henny." 

She vanished again with a snort under her breath, and Santa shrugged helplessly as the two younger men continued eating. "There are times when I wonder if John Mortimer modeled Rumpole's wife, She Who Must Be Obeyed, after my Hetty." 

They all laughed. Jim chewed and considered adapting the nickname for Blair, but decided he really preferred Chief. Besides, if he let Blair _know_ just how much influence he had over his life, he might never hear the end of it. Or get to enjoy the now only very occasional Wonderburger with a side of onion rings ever again. 

The snacks disappeared quickly. Jim could see why Blair liked the little meat pies, and even though mincemeat didn't usually do much for Blair, he still ate two cookies. While they ate, Santa told them stories about building this house, about how much easier computers made keeping track of the world's children, and about the year a Canada goose joined him on his deliveries. 

Finally, the last cookie crumb even Sentinel senses could find was gone, and Santa led them across the courtyard towards several streets of houses. The snow crunched softly under their feet, puddles of light spilled out from the houses they passed, and Jim could hear a cacophony of sounds, from soft singing to gentle hammering from all around him. And yet, there was a hush to the night that made him feel like he was part of some great secret that everyone was glad to have. He smiled at the thought -- after all, it was true. 

A few minutes later, they arrived at Blair's grandfather's house, which Santa said Isaac Sandburg had offered for their use. Someone had already delivered their bags, and a cheery fire blazed in the hearth. Telling them to just come up to the main house when they woke up, Santa bid them good night and left. 

Two bedrooms had been prepared, right down to an old fashioned bed-warmer tucked between the covers. Jim pulled the blankets up to his chin, and without thinking about it, anchored himself with Blair's heartbeat from the next room; a moment later, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Cinnamon toast. Cinnamon toast and hot chocolate. Cinnamon toast, hot chocolate and Blair. Mmmmm, Jim thought, muzzily as he let the aromas seep into his brain, this is the way to wake up. 

Soft footsteps padding down the hallway let him know his partner was heading his way. Jim sat up in bed, letting the covers pool in his lap, and raked his fingers back and forth across his face and then up though his hair. 

A gasp from the doorway made him look up quickly. Blair was standing there, carrying a cup of hot chocolate with a small plate set on top in each hand, and staring at him strangely. 

"Blair, what -- you okay?" Jim started to get up, concerned. 

"Yeah, fine." His voice sounded maybe a little overly cheerful. 

"You're looking a little flushed." 

"Hot chocolate? Steam?" The younger man made a "see" gesture with his arms. 

"Okay." Cocking his head, Jim pondered the man standing in front of him a moment longer, and decided maybe it was more stressful being here for his partner than he'd thought. God knew if he woke up in his childhood home, he wouldn't be real sanguine, so he gave the younger man an out. "Is that cinnamon toast?" 

"Yeah, it's kind of a tradition. Always have it my first morning here." 

Accepting a plate, Jim took a big bite of his piece and savored the sandy feel of the cinnamon and sugar against his lips and the nearly silent tinkle of the overflowing granules hitting his plate. "'Sgood," he said around his mouthful. 

"Thanks! Opa would sometimes mix the cinnamon and sugar with claret and then drizzle that on the toast, but I couldn't find any." 

They sat for a few minutes, one at each end of the bed, and discussed strategies. Finally, Jim licked the last traces of the toast off his fingers and swallowed the last of his chocolate. "Maybe you should take the lead if we need to question anyone. You're more of a known entity." 

"Maybe, but you have the impartiality of an outsider. Let's just go with the flow." 

"You mean like we do everyday, Pinky?" 

"Yeah, the give, the take; good cop, off-the-wall cop. You with the glaring, me with the talking." 

"Sounds like a plan. Let me just jump in the shower and we can get going." 

Blair stacked their dishes and headed towards the door. 

As Jim dug in his bag for a change of clothes, Blair looked back at him. "Jim, thanks again for being willing to help," he said, softly. 

The older man looked up, surprised. He started to make a smart-assed comment, but the trust shining out of Blair's eyes made him swallow the words. He fumbled for others. "No thanks necessary, Chief. We're partners, friends. This is what friends do; you know that." 

The words hung in the air between them for a long moment. Neither man moved. Jim thought he saw something else flash in Blair's eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. He wondered what it was, and in the back of his mind, a voice he was increasingly aware of asked him what he _wanted_ it to be. 

"Yeah, thanks, partner. And Jim, as a friend, I've got to say: nice bed head." 

Jim's hand flew to the top of his head where he could feel his hair was sticking up in all different directions. "Chief, as _your_ friend, get out of here before I have to kick your ass." 

Blair's hoot of laughter made Jim smile broadly as he moved into the bathroom. Standing under the spray, the warm water sluicing down his back, Ellison's thoughts turned back to Blair's words. That was, what, the third time Blair had thanked him for coming up here with him? What was really going on? Had Blair really thought he wouldn't help? The thought pierced him, leaving a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach in its wake. 

Thinking hard, he tried to focus on the moments just before and after Blair had told him the truth about being an elf. At the time, he had been aware of Blair being worried, but his own shock had consumed so much of his focus, maybe he hadn't acknowledged just how worried Blair had really been. 

But what had he been worried about? 

That Jim wouldn't believe him? That he would throw his roommate out of the loft again? He'd thought that the weeks of not talking about the whole incident, culminating in a large blow up not long after sorting though the mess with Blair's diss, had forever dispelled any chance, in either of their minds, that he would throw Blair out again. They had set up rules, cues, for when one of them was feeling . . . uncertain. And while Blair hadn't used any of them in their conversation last night, that didn't help Jim shake the feeling that a part of Blair had been concerned this secret would dissolve their friendship. 

Forcing himself to look carefully at his reaction the day before, Jim winced at the memory of how angry he'd been when he'd learned that Blair had kept this secret from him. But he'd managed to temper that anger by _knowing_ he'd been slipping back into fear-based reactions. At least he was learning to _recognize_ it. Difficult as it was to acknowledge, even to himself, he felt proud of that. Proud that he was learning things, absorbing some of the lessons he'd -- they'd -- had to live through. He could also honestly say that throwing Sandburg out, or punishing him another way, hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd been pissed . . . but that anger had come from, what? He let the idea drift for a moment. And then it came to him. Glaringly obvious, really: hurt. He had been hurt that Blair had hidden this secret. Worried that maybe their friendship, their relationship, was not as deep he had come to depend upon. 

He took a deep breath, imitating Blair's yoga breathing without even realizing it, and looked for evidence to counter yesterday's fears. The reality of the trust in Blair's eyes a few minutes ago, and the way he had sought warmth from him in the sleigh without hesitation stood strong against doubt. The realization soothed the burning sensation inside him. 

He knew he could trust Blair's friendship -- another lesson he'd learned. Maybe Blair not telling him about this side of himself before was just a fear-based reaction too. Imagine that. He took another deep breath. Imagine that. Well, he could live with his partner being human. 

Shutting the water off and stepping out of the shower, Jim let his thoughts drift again, reflecting on just how much his life had changed over the last few years. He'd just spent 15 minutes reflecting on and exploring his own emotions. And yet the world had not exploded, his brain had not shriveled into dust. He sent silent thanks to whatever omniscient entity had shoved Sandburg into his life and grabbed a towel, splitting his attention between drying his legs and following these epiphanies to where they were leading him. He wondered if some of the magic of this place was making this easier for him and decided he just didn't care. 

All right, then: Blair Sandburg was his friend. He knew that. _Knew_ it. This wasn't just a word to use when teasing his guide or to just toss around. This was deeper and more real than any friendship he'd ever had. Now he just needed to make sure Blair knew that Jim was _his_ friend, because that was just too important not to be said emphatically. He would find a time, and a way, to say these things as soon as he could. 

Hanging his towel up, he rested his hands on the rack for a moment. He felt immeasurably lighter. Smiling, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation. 

Stepping into his boxers, Jim flashed on the look in Blair's eyes right before the younger man had left the room. The calmed part of him knew it had been important. Maybe it would explain some of Blair's doubts. He realized he wanted to know what it was, because he had a growing suspicion that it might look similar to something he was feeling himself. Feeling like understanding was tantalizingly close, Ellison let it go for the moment, finished dressing, and went to join his friend in the front room. 

* * *

"Blair?" 

The two men were walking back up to the main buildings, and now that it was light, the rows of houses and the stone-lined streets were filled with people -- elves and humans -- going about their business. They got many curious looks as they strode up the main walkways, but most of the passersby waved or sang out cheerfully, wishing them a good morning. 

"Uh, huh?" Blair side-stepped to avoid some uneven snow. 

"This is December 22nd, isn't it?" 

"That's what usually comes after the 21st." 

"Ok, then can you explain to me why there's light? I mean, this is the North Pole, right?" 

"If you want to be technical, and you know you want me to, the Pole itself is about 500 feet behind Nick's house." 

"Thank you for your precision." He cuffed Blair playfully on the back of the head. The voice in the back of his head regretted that the wool cap on Blair's head prevented him from touching hair. "I'm serious, here, Darwin. We're close enough to the Solstice for government work, so why is there light? It isn't full sunlight, but this is definitely not darkness." 

"You remember reading about the mirrors that village in Austria is using to get light when the mountains block it during the winter? Well, the Workshop's been using that approach for years, except they use mirrors to reflect electric light that Nick somehow boosts by magic." 

"That magic's pretty handy." 

"Yeah, too bad it's tied to the site and to him, huh? Nikola told me that their productivity increased a huge amount when they put the system in years ago. But the part that always has fascinated me is whatever Nick does to keep the temperature from being unbearable. I think it's some kind of forcefield, but he just smiles and says it's a trade secret." 

"Nice. Next you're going to tell me they generate electricity by burning reindeer dung." 

"Not that I know of, but I think you should suggest it to Nick. They could call it the Ellison Initiative." 

Jim made a "yak, yak, yak" motion with his hand and opened a gate with the other so they could walk the last few feet to the big house. Before Blair could go through, however, he put his hand out and made his partner stop. "Chief, I'm glad you trusted me with this. Thanks for letting me in." 

Blair stood, frozen in front of him and just looked up at him for a long moment. Finally, he smiled, and raised his hand to squeeze Jim's fingers on his shoulder. "Jim--" 

"Good morning!" 

The loud greeting made them both jump. They pulled apart as Santa Claus strode towards them, beaming merrily. 

Jim sighed, but the next moment, he was fighting back a chuckle. "Sandburg, he's wearing a red track suit," he said in a strangled whisper out of the side of his mouth. 

"Uhmm, at least it's not velour?" 

"Thank god for small favors," Jim replied quickly, before stepping forward and greeting their host. "Anything happen last night?" 

"No, no new reports, thankfully. The elves guarding the wooden puzzles workshop said all was quiet, not even a mouse." The old man's eyes twinkled at them over this little square glasses. "Forgive me: holiday humor." 

They walked down a well-lit, cheerful hallway with dozens of door leading off of it. Each was labeled with a name in decorative gold paint -- Play Food; Trains; Pull Toys; Stuffed Animals: Northern Hemisphere; Stuffed Animals: Southern Hemisphere. Santa kept up a running commentary about what went on in each room, and by the time they turned down what the old man promised was the last hallway, Jim figured he knew more than enough about just how long it took to sand a really good set of blocks. 

As they continued walking past rooms filled with industrious looking elves, though, Jim started wondering if he would be able to tell the difference between a set of blocks made here, and a set from a regular factory. And would he still be able to feel rough spots even after the workers here pronounced the blocks finished? Good grief. He'd actually been devising tests for himself. Damn, he need a distraction -- and quickly -- before Blair turned around and used some kind of special guide skill to see the idea on his face and expanded it, because he had not doubt his endothermic elf partner could do it. 

Happily, his years of investigative experience came through. He'd known it was handy for something. "So, ah, Nick." The name still wasn't flowing off his lips easily; it seemed somehow disrespectful, even if Blair used it. "No one has been in or out of this room since you discovered the tools and puzzles were missing?" 

"Correct, James. It was the last straw. We shut down the room and sent the message to Blair just moments later. I personally locked the doors and picked the elves who have been keeping watch." 

"Sounds good. Have any of the other areas that had been broken into been kept as quarantined?" 

"No, just this last one, unfortunately. At first we just thought it was forgetfulness or a rash of disorganization; maybe the extra confusion of a particularly busy year. It took us several day to realize there was something more going on, and by that time, any evidence in the other workshops was unrecognizable." 

"Too bad," Blair piped up. "But hopefully we'll be able to find enough evidence in this last workshop." 

"I certainly hope so, boys. Now, speaking of finding evidence, James; would you like me to close down the nearby workshops so you can have more quiet? I don't want to interfere with whatever extra help your gifts can give us." 

Jim almost missed a step; hearing his senses talked about so casually was. . . surreal. He looked at Blair, wondering about his partner's reaction. Worry -- the worried look was back. Damn. He was no doubt concerned that his sentinel would be completely underwhelmed at hearing his secret bandied about. Somehow, though, Jim figured if there was ever a place where the secret would be kept, it would be here. And besides, it was kind of nice to have someone besides Blair just accept what he could do without question. 

Really wanting to soothe that look from Sandburg's face, he reached up and slid his hand under the younger man's hair, giving what he hoped was a comforting touch on Sandburg's nape. The touch forestalled whatever comment, excuse, explanation, or distraction Blair had been about to supply, and Jim smiled down into the wide-eyed look of surprise his guide was giving him. 

Breaking the look with difficulty, Jim shifted his gaze back to Santa. "Actually, now that my control is pretty consistent, having some noise around usually helps me more than it distracts; it give me something to filter out, and to kind of work _against_ if that makes sense. Blair makes a great anchor, of course, but there are definitely times when it's nice to have some other, contrasting stimuli, too." 

"Excellent, excellent. Quite amazing things, your senses." Santa beamed. "Yes, well, just a few more doors now." 

He turned and continued walking down the hallway, giving the two younger men a few seconds of privacy before they followed. They stood there, looking at each other, Jim smiling softly at the surprise in Blair's eyes that shifted to a glance of such . . .pride that it made Jim's heart expand and he had to catch his breath. 

"I didn't know that, Jim," Blair whispered. "I figured you'd just gotten used to having stuff go on around you. I didn't know it helped." 

"Yeah, well, Darwin, there's a few things you don't know that I'd like to talk about." Squeezing the back of Sandburg's neck, Jim let his hand drift away, aware that his hand was warm and tingling. "Later; we'd better get to work." And making shooing motions, he urged Blair to walk down the hallway in front of him. 

Jim followed along after him, grinning. After all, it wasn't everyday that he got to have the last word. 

* * *

"The paint fumes aren't bothering you?" 

"Chief, the paint fumes aren't bothering me; the fumes from the paint thinner aren't bothering me; the hammering in the next workshop isn't bothering me. Actually, the only thing that _is_ bothering me is that you just won't chill." 

His partner had the good sense to look sheepish. "Sorry. Guess I'm a little tense." 

"Yeah, I'm getting that. Come on, mellow out, Darwin. This is old hat. We can practically run a room in our sleep. How about you come over here and help me take a closer look at these scuff marks." 

"Yeah, sure." 

Jim waited a moment while Blair forced himself to take a few deep breaths. "We'll figure this out, Blair. The Big Guy will get his answers; Christmas won't be delayed. Then we'll have some more cookies." 

The shorter man laughed at the anticipatory gleam in Jim's eyes, just as the older man had intended. Relieved that he'd gotten his guide to loosen up, Jim drew him over to where he could see the marks more clearly and they contemplated them for a few seconds. 

There were a number of scuff marks and scratches that led from the door right up to the large work table that dominated the room. A couple feet away from the table, and then right up to the edge of the table and conveyer belt, they were more concentrated but they didn't make a pattern either man discerned. 

"Do they use carts in here?" Jim asked. "Could the wheels have marked the floor?" 

More focused now, Blair moved quickly to the closet labeled "carts" and took a look. "Nope, wooden wheels. No dice." 

"There aren't any old marks, Chief, these are all new; the wood is all rough at the edges." 

"Well, that's interesting. Looks like we at least we know how they got in and out." 

Jim nodded his agreement. "So what else have we've got?" 

"The outside door shows no signs of having been forced." Blair counted off facts on his fingers. "All the wood-working tools are missing; so are a lot of the puzzles, especially the ones for toddlers." 

Jim nodded. "Cursory inspection and questioning of those familiar with the room indicates nothing else seems to be missing. No one remembers hearing or seeing anything that night. Smell isn't going to help us much because I don't have any sort of bench-mark to let me know what smells are usually here." 

Blair sighed dramatically and batted his eyelashes at him. "So nice to know that you listen to me sometimes." 

"Yeah, sometimes, when you have good ideas." 

"Oh, so all the time, then." 

"I'm going to ignore that and move on." 

"Shocking. But I agree with smell not being much help, and there's no way I want you tasting things in here, Jim, kid-safe paint or not. Doesn't seem smart." 

"Yeah, it does smell less sharp than the paint I'm used to, but I'm not feeling the urge to test it. Okay, so, spot me while I take a deeper look at these marks and then the rest of the room?" 

"Sounds like a plan. You want me talking?" 

Jim considered that briefly. "No, I think we've got enough noise from the other room; let's go with touch." 

"You got it, man." 

Moments later, they'd arranged themselves so that Jim was bent down, hovering close over the marks, while Blair placed a steady hand against his sentinel's back and let him do this thing. 

"There's some variation, here, Chief," Jim commented, quietly. "Looks like a couple different whatever-they-ares made the marks -- slight shape differences. And, maybe, yeah, variation from weight, too. I've got some different thickness between marks and from edge to edge." 

"Clues about the cause? You think someone pushed or slid something up to the table to take the puzzles away?" 

"Makes sense. The elf in charge in here -- what was his name?" 

"Jackson." 

"Right. He said several dozen puzzles are missing; more than one man or elf could carry, and they would've had to move quickly since the patrols had started by then." He touched one mark with the tip of his finger. "No residue of any kind." Letting part of his awareness stay with the warm weight of Blair's hand on his back, he let his sight sink deeper, hoping to tease out some other clue, but either he just didn't recognize what had made the marks, or there wasn't enough evidence to figure it out. Finally, he looked up, shifting his focus so he could talk this through with his guide, when something caught in the edge of the conveyer belt caught his eye. "Hey, Sandburg, you got any of those Ziploc baggies you said you were going to bring?" 

The younger man immediately plunged his free hand into his back pocket. "Of course." 

Jim slipped his hand into his own back pocket and pulled out the pair of tweezers he'd brought along. Gingerly, he plucked two or three slender filaments out from under the belt. "What have we here?" 

Holding the bag up so Blair could see, too, Jim zoomed in on the bag's contents. Part of what they were was obvious right away. "I've got some roots, Chief. It's hair: short, brownish, with color variations, definitely not human." 

"Elf?" Blair shot back, concern shading the question. 

"I don't think so," Jim replied, cautiously. "Nope. I'm going with animal." 

"Huh. I don't think . . ." His voice trailed off. "Hey, Jim? What's got hair, feet, and enough weight that they might make scuff and scratch the hard wood?" 

"Oh, smooth, Chief. Way to put the pieces together." He looked again at the marks, and with Blair's idea in mind, realized that while the spacing of the marks was inconsistent, the same shapes were repeated directly in line with each other. "I should've seen it immediately." Smiling broadly, he made sure he let his pride in Blair show. Maybe making sure Blair knew how much he thought of him was going to be easier than he thought. 

Blair glowed for a moment under the praise and then patted Jim fondly in the arm. "Thanks, but let's make sure we're right." 

Blair trotted quickly over the door and called Jackson back from the hallway where he had been waiting while the two men had worked. "Jackson, do you ever bring the reindeer in here?" 

The question clearly shocked the elf. "Of course not! They're all very tame, but we wouldn't bring an animal in here -- far too much to break or hurt itself on if it gets startled." 

"How about someone who tended the reindeer? Would any of them be in here?" Jim asked. 

Jackson pondered that for a moment but looked skeptical. "Unlikely. Most of us are pretty specialized in our jobs, experts in our skill. Someone might work carving both toy soldiers and puzzles, but I don't know of anyone who works in the barns who also works up here in the Workshops." 

Thanking the elf, Blair guided Jackson back out the door so the two cops could finish with the room. 

Light from the skylights made Blair's hair shine as he walked back towards his partner. Jim decided that he liked the effect. 

"So, looks like I might regret not bringing my shit kicking boots, huh?" 

Jim looked up from where he was leaning partially under the table looking for more evidence. "Got another bag?" He asked, distracted. Blair handed him one. "Wait, you have shit-kickers?" 

"Sure, you know, those summers driving a truck and on the ranch on Texas. Oh, um, by the way, Jim, that uncle, actually great-uncle, is, well, an elf, too. He handles shipping most of the supplies from North America up here, hence the trucks. The Texas thing we've never been able to figure out; he just likes it there. What did you find, man?" 

Shaking his head, Jim reached for what he'd found with the tweezers. "Sandburg, when all this is done, you're drawing me a family tree. I think . . . ." He paused to consider the small specks he'd just put in the bag. "Looks like grass seed? Nope, hay seed. Pretty similar to that stuff that I got all over my clothes the last time we went out and visited Stephen's horses." 

"Huh. So, the fact that the whole area is covered in snow this year makes it seem a little unlikely that stuff was growing just outside. And considering how clean this place is, I don't think it's just been lying around." 

"Makes sense to me." Jim stuck his head under the large table again, but another scan of the area didn't yield any more evidence. 

"You think we can make the logical assumption that even if one of the workers in this area has a significant other who works in the stables, and might, therefore, have some reindeer hair attached to their person, that it is unlikely that they deposited it in a bunch on a conveyer belt, right next to scratches on the floor caused by something heavy and probably having four feet?" 

"Not even the fact that that was all one sentence is going to make me disagree with it, Darwin." 

Blair bounced up on his toes. "I'd say we have probable cause." 

Nodding while he looked around the room, Jim avoided Blair's eyes. "Ah, Sandburg, I know this is kind of dumb, but the reindeer -- they don't talk, right? No opposable hooves? They couldn't have done this solo, right?" 

"No, Jim. You're safe: no talking reindeer. They're pretty normal stock; some extra enchantments thrown in, of course. Anti-skid abilities for those steep roofs, hoof dampening so they don't make too much noise, stuff like that." 

"Boy, they really do think of everything, don't they?" 

"My favorite part is that even with all of that magic, Santa still lets them leave the occasional hoof print in someone's yard." 

"Holy shit!" A look of wonder spread over Jim's face. "I hadn't thought about that in years. The year Stevie was born, I was _sure_ I saw hoof prints out in the snow. Dad said I was being foolish." 

"Pretend I'm New York." 

" _New York?_ " 

"The founding of our country, New York, abstaining from votes, respectfully? The musical, _1776_?" 

Jim could tell he was missing something funny, but he had no idea what. 

"Don't worry about it, Jim. Just think about the fact that the four year old you _did_ see hoof prints, and that you've got further evidence that your father could be an ass, just in case that hadn't occurred to you. But for the moment, we've got a job." 

Feeling warmed by Blair's automatic defense of him, even if it was for something that had happened 35 years ago, Jim reluctantly set that aside for the moment and answered, "Right. Stables?" 

"Uh, huh. And, hey," Blair crowed. "How's this for a change: we don't have to sit here and wait for a warrant." 

"Nice. But I think we should bring Santa, and probably Jackson, along, don't you?" 

"Yep. Let's go share a bit of what we've found and head on down to visit the non-speaking reindeer." 

"Lay on, McDuff." 

* * *

After the trip up here and all the evidence of magic he had seen over the last few hours, Jim had somehow figured discovering the culprit was going to be more convoluted, but in the end, it didn't take very much searching at all. 

They'd filled the Boss and Jackson in about their hunches. Reporting to a man smoking a pipe rather than a cigar was a bit disconcerting, but it had worked just fine; after examining the bagged evidence and glaring at the scratched floor for a few moments, Santa had accepted their findings and agreed with where they were pointing. He was also all for heading to the stables immediately. 

On the way down to the stables, Jim felt like he was part of a mini Christmas parade. Santa Claus walked ahead of Jackson, Blair, and himself, waving to his people, asking after relatives of the elves he passed, and answering questions. Happily, the old man discouraged anyone else from joining their procession, so it was still only the four of them when the reached the large wooden structure. 

"Do I need to tell you to dial your sense of smell down, Jim?" Blair asked, putting a delaying hand on Jim's chest before he could follow their host into the large building. 

The smells of animal and manure had, of course, been increasing exponentially as they got closer to the stable, and Jim had wondered how long it would be before Blair gave him directions about it; one step less than he had figured. He patted the hand on his chest and assured his guide that he had things under control. "One of your better ideas." 

It didn't look noticeably different from any other stable Jim had ever been in: stalls, troughs, a tack room, a loft for feed. Seeing antlers poking out of those stalls was a bit odd, but it didn't make that much of a difference. 

Partially aware of Blair asking the other two to stand to the side so they could continue investigating, Jim looked up. He zoomed in on a tuft of hay he could see protruding from the loft. A moment's consideration showed him that the seeds matched the ones he'd found in the workshop. 

"Look." He pointed and Blair followed the gesture with his eyes. 

"Match?" 

"Yep." 

"Greatness." 

"You want to see if you can find a brush? Don't think I want to go pulling hair out of Blitzen, here." He gestured over his shoulder with this thumb. 

"Actually, James, that's Dasher, but allow me; I think if I run my fingers through his coat here . . . yes, yes, here you go." 

The reindeer nudged Santa's arm playfully as he handed over a few hairs. While the bearded man scratched the animal's forehead, the two cops did another comparison. 

"Looks the same to me," Blair said. 

"I hardly need my sight at all." 

"They should all be this easy." 

"From your mouth, Chief, from your mouth." 

Blair turned to Santa Claus. "Could you gather up all the elves who work with the reindeer? We'll need to question them." 

"Certainly. Jerome, he's the stable manager, can call everyone together," Santa replied. 

Jim cut them off. "Actually, Sandburg, I think I smell something." He shut his eyes and rotated in place, trying to zero in on whatever was ghosting around at the edge of his senses. "I can't, quite . . ." 

"It's obviously something other than the reindeer and manure?" Jim nodded. "Okay, so, filter it out, one smell at a time, Jim. Just like peeling back those layers of plasticy American cheese you like; you know what to do." 

They worked like that for a few moments, filtering through the normal stable smells until, "Got it!" The sentinel's eyes snapped open. "Paint. I can smell the paint from the puzzle workshop. It's stronger over here." He strode towards the tack room, holding on to the odor and allowing it to lead him. Blair stayed right with him, the other two holding back so they didn't get in the way. 

Following the trail through the door, Jim knew he didn't need to worry about zoning, not with Blair so close he could feel the warmth of his body, so he continued focusing on refining the location of the paint smell. A second or two's deliberation made it very clear that the strongest concentration was over in the far corner, a corner devoid of puzzles but containing a barrel on the floor and bridles and reins hanging on the wall. 

"They're here; the question is, where?" 

"The barrel?" Blair asked. 

They moved to take off the lid; luckily it wasn't on very tightly, so it took only a moment to pull the lid off to reveal . . . "Salt licks?" Slight disgust shaded Blair's words. "That's a bit of a let-down." 

Jim snorted, even as he swept the corner with this gaze. "The reindeer would have a field day, though." Shaking his head, Jim spoke again. "The odor is definitely the strongest here, right _here._ " He turned his attention to the floor and zeroed in on the planks. 

"The wood, it's . . . different. Hold on," Jim shut his eyes, clenching them shut as he thought back. "When we walked over here, the sound was off; the boards sounded different." Opening his eyes, he knelt down and ran his hand over the planks. After running his hand across one or two, he found a seam that felt considerably different. "We need to move the barrel, Chief." 

Together, they rotated it a few feet to the right, uncovering a rope-pull. 

"Gee, could that be a clue, Jim?" 

"With keen insights like that, Chief, you're going to be Cop of the Year in no time. Care to do the honors?" 

Bracing himself squarely, Blair pulled the rope, and with a little help from Jim as the door came vertical, revealed a fair-sized space. A space full of puzzles, a box of wood-working tools, a cascade of gears, and several other piles of missing items. 

"This, this I think is a clue, Sandburg." 

"Oooo, okay." 

The smirked at each other, and just as Jim was about to jump down into the small space to see if he could find any other clues, a small figure stepped through the doorway to the outside and immediately started protesting. 

"What -- just what do you think you're doing?" he shouted. 

Jim looked at the elf and crossed his arms. "I think I'm investigating the thefts up at the Workshop." 

"You had no right to come down here and--" the red-faced elf broke off as Santa stepped into the room fully. 

"He had every right, Jerome. _I_ gave him that right." 

The elf snapped his mouth shut and stared resentfully at the two men standing in the corner. 

Jim leaned down and whispered quietly in Blair's ear. "I'm not an expert on elf physiology, but his heart's beating pretty fast, and he's reeking of something pretty damned close to what guilt smells like in a human, not to mention a pretty healthy dose of completely pissed off. 

"Looks like we've got a winner," Blair whispered back. "You looming and glaring seems to be working pretty well, so take it away, man." 

Jim took several steps towards the elf, who stepped back until his back was against the wall before standing, defiantly and clenching his fists. 

"Anything you'd like to say about this trap door and the items hidden in it?" 

"Yes, alright, I did it!" the elf shouted. 

Jim winced at the volume and then blinked a bit as he recovered; he hadn't expected a full confession right off the bat. "You stole these things and hid the other missing items, like the doll hair, up at the Workshops?" 

"Yes, I did, and I'd do it again." He shut his mouth again and leaned against the wall, looking smug. 

Behind him, he could hear Blair humming the Scooby Doo theme song, sentinel soft, and Jim was glad he wasn't the only one feeling like was caught in a TV plot. He was trying to decide what tack to take next since this didn't seem like the right moment to pull out the cuffs and call for transport, when Santa stepped forward. 

"Why, Jerome?" His voice was hoarse. "Why would you steal these things? You had to know you were risking the elves up there getting things done in time." 

"I knew, it, of course I knew it! The `elves up there,' the Workshop," He sneered and took another step from the wall. He was now nearly shaking with rage. "Bah! Well, I ask you, what about the reindeer? When was the last time anyone talked about them rather than the wonderful, industrious elves?" He managed to make both adjectives sound like epithets. "I'll tell you; that infernal song, `Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,' that's when. Well, it's time that changed." He cackled a bit and rubbed his hands together maliciously. "Now you're all behind and it's my boys who are going to save the day _this_ year. This year you _need_ the reindeer and their speed to get things delivered on time, by jiminy, I saw to that!" 

All the shouting was drawing a crowd from the other elves who worked in the stables, and a few others who were passing by. The longer the disgruntled elf went on, the more murmuring passed through the crowd. 

Jim shifted his attention to the group, wondering if they were going to have a problem, and could feel Blair doing the same next to him, but Santa took over. 

Holding his hands up, the crowd and Jerome fell silent. "I'm saddened, Jerome, very, very saddened. You know better than anyone how much I love my reindeer, and you should have known how I rely on _all_ of my workers, workshop elves, those of you who take care of the reindeer, cooks, maintenance crews, everyone, to keep us going all year long. It isn't a contest." He shook his head, but Jerome just glared, unrepentant. "Well, you didn't ruin anything, Jerome, and thanks to the hard work of the whole team, we aren't behind at all." 

That got through to the red-faced elf and he deflated before their eyes. 

Santa sighed again. "Your keys, please," he demanded, putting out his hand. 

Jerome's hand shook as he turned over his large ring of keys, and his face mulish and set. 

Slipping the keys into one of his pockets, Santa spoke again. "Paul, Eddy, please take Jerome back to his house and stay with him. You are confined there, Jerome, until I say otherwise." Then the large man turned his back on the guilty elf, dismissing him. 

That seemed to sink in even further, and all the starch in Jerome's back just oozed away, so it was easy for the two appointed elves to drag him out of the room. Through the doorway, Jim could see them escorting the elf down the hill towards the houses below. 

"Carlotta, if you could please organize the effort to return all these things to the main buildings, I would appreciate it very much." As Carlotta began mobilizing her fellow elves, Santa motioned for the two cops to precede him back into the stable-proper. 

"I don't know how to thank the two of you for solving this problem." 

"It was our pleasure, Nick. Sorry about Jerome." Blair replied, quietly. 

"Yes, well, at least it wasn't a wide-spread problem, or someone breaking in from the outside. That's quite a relief." He patted Blair on the back. "James, it was a real pleasure watching a sentinel in action. Now, would you care to meet some of the reindeer? It was Donner, I do believe, who left some tracks for you long ago." 

Feeling pulled further into the enchantment of this place, and not even wanting to resist, Jim stepped forward to pet the reindeer and grinned at Blair. 

* * *

"You didn't really think Nick was going to answer that question, did you? 

Jim shrugged. "Dunno. I wasn't sure where general information stopped and trade secret started." 

"He thought he was pretty funny with the black ops joke, though, didn't he?" 

"What, you going to tell Santa Claus it was a dumb joke?" 

"Hell, no!" 

"Exactly. Besides, it doesn't really matter how he does it, or how he hides it; this is a really nice park." 

"Yeah, it's great for picnics during the summer, too." 

The two men were strolling down a stone-lined path through a copse of pine trees, bundled up against the cold. The snow around them glistened in the moonlight and stretched out into the distance in gentle waves. They were far enough away from the Workshop and village that even to the sentinel the sounds were distant. 

"Feels good to stretch my legs." 

Blair murmured his agreement with the comment and Jim rolled his eyes at the inane small-talk they were engaging in. Next he was going to comment on the weather. Oh, wait, he already had. Damn. 

They came to a wide spot in the path overlooking a vast snowfield. Jim opened his senses wide and enjoyed not only the quiet hush, but the rich blackness of the night and the crisp, pine-scented air that burned his nostrils. He savored each sensation and let it soak deeply inside him, to pull out and savor the next time the city overwhelmed him. And then it came to him. _This_ was the way he could bring up the subject of their friendship. He took one more deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart and turned to his guide, who was staring off into the distance. "You know, Blair, I don't think I've ever really said thank you clearly enough." 

Blair turned to him, frowning, clearly confused about the turn the conversation had taken. "For what, Jim?" 

"For my senses, for not letting me flounder through all this on my own. I try not to think about where I could be if you hadn't stuck by me, even when I fought you every step of the way. Thanks for hanging in there until I finally figured out that they weren't always a curse, and that at times, like right now, they could be a really wonderful thing." 

The small puffs of white vapor ghosting out of Blair's mouth grew larger as his mouth dropped open. 

Feeling like he was finally getting somewhere, Jim smiled gently as Blair stuttered through a "you're welcome." 

"And you know, I was thinking today--" 

"When?" Blair laughed, cutting him off, and Jim was a little surprised to see moving restlessly from foot to foot with what looked like nerves. "While we were apprehending the criminal mastermind? During the celebratory feast? Or when Nick gave us a tour of the List Room. Hey, you know, I'd never been in there. . ." 

"Blair," Jim interrupted firmly, not wanting to let the younger man get away with the attempt at distraction. "I'm trying to say something here." Blair stopped his flow of words, but Jim watched him hunch his shoulders and cross his arms tightly across chest. 

Watching his partner's body language, Jim had an epiphany. Huh, he thought; my second one of the day, and I didn't even need to be in the shower. He realized that his normally upbeat, take-things-as-they-come guide thought there was something negative, or at least something to fear, waiting to be said. 

Feeling a rush of affection for the mysterious workings of Blair Sandburg's brain and the way it could go off, cartwheeling in unexpected directions, Jim returned to the thought that _this_ was why Blair had always understood about his, Jim's, fear-based reactions: because there was a part somewhere inside himself that did the same thing. Maybe Blair was better than he was at managing it day-to-day, but clearly there were still times they intruded into his behavior. Wanting more than anything to calm those fears and smooth away the tension from those hunched shoulders, Jim reached out and put his hands on Sandburg's arms. 

And the last pieces slid into place, creating a pattern he could finally see. This wasn't a new thing; it had been building for months, maybe years. Friendship was part of this relationship, it provided the underpinnings and had made his life better than it had ever been, but that was only the beginning, the launch point for so much more. He loved Blair Sandburg. That's what the voice in the back of his head had been whispering for months but that he'd been too deaf to hear. That was why he wanted to see his partner happy: because it made him happy. 

This wasn't just about friendship; this was about love. 

"Jim? Jim, are you alright?" 

He tried to answer, knew he had been standing there, silent, with his hands on Blair's shoulders for several long moments, but there was so much to say suddenly and to feel and to think that he didn't know where to start. 

"Oh, damn, are you zoning? What--" 

"I'm not zoning, Blair." 

"Oh, shit, you're calling me Blair." 

"Blair, Chief, Sandburg, hush, okay? You're doing that not chilling thing again. I was just, you know, ruminating again." Rubbing his hands up and down the upper part of Blair's arms felt good to him, but it didn't seem to be helping his partner, because his expression went from scared to concerned to skeptical. 

"About what, exactly?" 

"Oh, you know, the little things: you, me, us. The fact that I love you a hell of a lot." 

Something bright flickered in Blair's eyes and then immediately disappeared beneath a frown. "Wha--no, you don't," Blair flashed back, immediately. 

Shocked by the statement, Jim could only repeat it. "I don't?" 

"No." 

Searching Blair's eyes, he thought -- hoped -- his guide was reacting from fear again, but fear of what? "You want to tell me why I don't, or can't, be in love with you? Because I was feeling pretty good about this decision." 

"Jim, come on: I'm me, you're you." 

"Oh, well, that clears _everything_ right up. You almost majored in philosophy, didn't you?" 

Bowing his head, Blair muttered something, Jim didn't catch. He could feel his own fears bubbling up, obscuring the clarity he'd just found. He didn't want that. He wanted Blair. He wanted Blair to understand everything. "Chief, I'm a sentinel, and I didn't get what you just said. Come on, look at me." He tried to raise Blair's chin with a gentle finger, but Blair reared away angrily and broke away from the one hand still on his arm. 

His guide glared at him. "Fine. You want me to spell it out for you, to actually have to say it? Fine. You deserve someone better." 

This time it was Jim whose mouth dropped open. Whatever he had been expecting, this hadn't been it. "Blair, at the risk of using the oldest clich in the book, there is no one better for me. I've finally figured it out. _You_ make me happy, _you_ know me better than anyone ever has, _you_ call me on it when I'm being an asshole. Deserve doesn't have dick-all to do with it -- you know me." 

"I, I," Blair faltered. 

Jim stood there, waiting for Blair to say something more, his whole body aching with the thought that Blair didn't love him back, that this wasn't going to work. 

Taking a mental step back and reminding himself that the underpinnings of their relationship were here, were strong, Jim forced himself to wait and consider. They just needed to get past their default: fear-based reactions. Finally, he took another step out on this limb. "Chief, what are you really afraid of?" he asked, quietly. 

Shaking his head mutely, Blair refused to answer. Jim just waited. Finally, in a rusty voice, Blair answered. "I can't--" 

"Blair, you _can._ You've got to, because we've got a pretty good thing here, but it could be so much better. I want that with you, and judging by how you've been treating me the last few months, I think you do, too." 

The shorter man sighed and looked up into Jim's face, searching it intently. After a moment, he shut his eyes. 

"What are you afraid of, Blair?" Jim repeated. 

Eyes still closed, he finally answered, the words coming out in a confused rush. "That you're going to see the real me and realize I'm not the person you think I am, the person you think you love." 

Jim almost laughed. "Not possible, Blair; after all these years, I've finally figured it out. I not only see, I know you are my friend. I _do_ see the person you really are. The one who can't resist a snarky comment, the person who would do anything for a friend, the one who calls me on my shit, and even that small hidden place in you that's just as afraid as some of the pieces of me. And I love all of them, even the part of you that is constitutionally incapable of screwing the lid of the orange juice back on straight. I do see you, Blair, and I think you see me right back." 

"I want--" Blair started. 

"Then do," Jim urged right back, once again reaching out and capturing Blair's arms with his hands, wanting to pull him closer but reluctant to do that until Blair had made this decision himself. 

"You really love me?" 

"Yes." He put all the conviction and assurance he could into that one word. 

There was a long pause, and then Blair finally said the words. Quietly, but he said them. "I, I love you, too." 

And just like that, the last of the tension holding Jim immobile dissolved under a flood of happiness. Inexorably drawn down towards Blair, he murmured, "Works out well, then," before pulling his guide all the way into his arms and capturing his mouth. The kiss went from tentative, to speculative, to sure, to momentous until they were both shaking with it. 

They both shifted, finding a better fit of their bodies, one against the other. Sinking his fingers deep into the hair that had fascinated him for years, Jim dislodged Blair's knit cap, but since all the younger man did was wrap his arms around Jim's neck, deepening this new, longest kiss yet, Jim didn't figure he minded. In a matter of moments, Jim discovered that he loved having his lower lip sucked and teased. Huh, he thought, reveling in the sensation. Blair knows things about me I didn't even know myself. I'll have to tell him. Later. 

Sometime later, Blair pulled away from the unending string of kisses they'd been indulging in. "Oh, shit," Blair sighed against Jim's lips. "So good. What if I mess this up?" 

"Then we'll fix it," Jim whispered right back and moved to close the small gap between them again. 

Blair laughed, and this time he was the one who reached up, and cupping his partner's face in his hands, kissed him hard. 

Not minding a bit, and feeling more cherished than he could ever remember feeling, Jim opened his mouth against the onslaught of Blair's lips, and when his guide did something with his tongue that made his whole body shake, he groaned. "Christ, Chief. I'm so glad we figured this out." Suddenly, the fact that they were both bundled into heavy coats so there was too much of Blair he couldn't touch and feel was completely unacceptable. "C'mon." 

"Come on, where, Jim? Mmmm, kiss me again." 

Jim did just that, but then he pulled away and tucked Blair under his arm. "Come on back to the house, Blair. I can't wait any longer to get you out of that coat." 

Blair grinning, and it was blinding even in the moonlight. "Do I get to get you out of your coat?" 

"Oh, yeah." Jim shuddered slightly at the thought. 

Blair danced away from him, up the path, holding out his hand for Jim. "Well, come on, then, what are you waiting for?" 

He followed. 

* * *

They stepped across the threshold into the darkened house so close together that they kept bumping into each other and having to slide their hips past each other to get through the door and into the entry way. Neither one of them seemed to mind, nor made any effort to move further apart, however. Actually, once they were fully inside and the door was closed, Jim reeled Blair even closer. Pulling his guide's back to his front, he looped his arms over the shorter man's neck and leaned down to nibble around one of his ears. 

Blair's head dropped back against Jim's chest with a quiet thud and a soft sigh. "Want to take a shower?" 

"Nope." 

"Want something to eat?" 

"Nope." 

"Drink?" 

"Nope." Jim switched ears and let his fingers drift around until he found the zipper pull on Blair's jacket. The slow slide of the zip was loud in the silent house, and the lower Jim pulled it, the more of Blair's weight sank back against him. "Don't need anything but you naked over there in front of that big old fire." 

"Mmmmm, and if I want a shower?" Blair teased even as he ground his ass against Jim. 

"Tough shit." Jim murmured back and threw in a lick up the tendon in Blair's neck for good measure. 

"Convincing argument." 

Somehow, despite the fact that Blair's jacket didn't want to come off his left arm, and Jim's turtleneck got stuck halfway off his head, they ended up on a blanket in front of the crackling fire, partially undressed. That fact made Jim stop, though, because Blair's skin, limned by the firelight, was quite possibly the most incredible thing he'd ever seen in his life, and combined with the heat in his partner's eyes, it looked like Blair's entire body was glowing; he just had to touch. 

And so he did. His fingers shaking lightly, Jim shook the last inches of his turtleneck sleeve off his hand, and reached towards Blair's chest. With just the barest tips of his fingers, he slid his hand across the skin, and then down, between Blair's pecs, and though the scattering of hair there. Carding his fingers through it, Jim enjoyed the contrast between skin and hair before sending his fingers back up, up until he reached a nipple. Wanting, needing, to feel more, Jim raised his other hand and circled both nipples at the same time and watched them immediately peak in reaction. 

The response made his gasp; leaving his fingers in place, he raised his eyes to meet Blair's and the need there let him know that he wasn't alone in this, that Blair was just as lost in the sensation as he was. He liked that. 

"You like that?" 

"Oh, yeah." Jim had to clear his throat to reply. 

"Me, too, Jim, me too; and your eyes on me make it even better." 

The husky note in Blair's voice felt like another caress, and when Blair shifted his weight so that he was leaning back on both hands, offering his body up to be touched, Jim didn't even try to resist but ran both hands all over the offered skin, up and over the roundness of shoulders, the soft skin of Blair's inner arms, until he'd left no skin untouched. 

Both men were breathing hard by now, and when their eyes met again, they both moved their hands to the flies of their pants, their eagerness to free their erections not needing words. Seconds later, they had both kicked away their remaining clothes, and Jim found his arms full of Blair, who was pushing him back into the blanket and leaving a trail of little kisses on Jim's upper chest. 

"Turnabout is fair play, man." 

The guide was as thorough as the sentinel had been. Every square inch of skin received attention, first from fingers and then from mouth, lips, and tongue. A few special places received extra attention as Blair lingered, tracing random patterns with his fingernails until Jim could only gasp and shake. At one point Jim heard himself begging throatily as his guide alternated between laving his right nipple with his tongue and then biting it just hard enough to raise every hair on the back of his neck and make his cock jump in sympathy. 

Finally, unable to take another moment of the glorious sensations, Jim reached down and pulled Blair up his body until their faces were level and he could kiss him ravenously. Meanwhile, neither man's hands were still. One of Blair's hands smoothed and dipped into all the hallows on Jim's back, while the other slipped further down and kneaded Jim's ass. For his part, Jim left one hand in Blair's hair, and used the other to make large, sweeping caresses over Blair's back and torso until he couldn't wait any longer and he reached down to lay his whole hand over the hot, hard flesh nudging his hip. 

The move made Blair drop his head back wantonly, breaking their kiss, but Jim didn't mind since it afforded him a full view of his lover's flushed cheeks and full, swollen mouth. 

"Yes, Jim, please, touch me, just like that." 

The groaned command made the older man smile. He had done this; he had reduced Blair Sandburg to begging for his touch. Wanting to hear more of his partner's husky, needy voice, Jim started whispering in his ear, even as he moved his fingers and hand against Blair's cock. 

"Like this, Blair? You want my fingers here?" 

"Yes, Jim, right there." 

Jim squeezed lightly just below the head and found himself thrusting against Blair's hip as wetness made his fingers slippery. Not wanting this to end too soon, though, Jim stopped himself from thrusting again and focused on sliding his hand up and down, pausing now and then, sometimes moving faster, then slower, until Blair was writhing against him, gasping continuously. Finally, after one particularly slow slide that ended with a light squeeze, Blair shouted and groaned his name and Jim couldn't wait any longer. 

The sentinel buried his face in Blair's hair once again, the feel of it siding against his skin and his lips sending zings of pleasure throughout his body. "Let it go. Come for me, Blair. Come on. Yeah." Jim's encouragement ended on a sigh as Blair came with a helpless sound, hot and wet against his hand; the sound and feel of Blair coming against him made him push that one last, little bit against his lover, until he was falling, too, coming hard against Blair's skin, groaning in echo to Blair's quiet moans. 

* * *

The fire had reduced itself to smoldering coals by the time either of them stirred, but there was still more than enough light for Jim to see the wonder in Blair's eyes as he lifted his head from his chest and looked down at Jim. 

"Jim." It wasn't a question, just a statement. 

"Yes." The sentinel cocked his head and reached up to brush away a stray piece of hair stuck to Blair's cheek. 

"It's just you," the younger man said, like it was a great discovery, before his eyes started to droop again and he dropped his head back down to Jim's chest, cuddled close, and slipped back towards sleep. 

"Yeah," Jim said softly. "Just me, and just you. Not so scary after all." 

* * *

They spent most of the next day in bed. Jim found himself thankful for many things all at once: the fact that Isaac Sandburg had enough human visitors to have provided a huge bed, the fact that his guide was very, very flexible and very, very imaginative, and the fact that for whatever reason, no one came and checked on them, but waited until they wandered up to Santa's house around dinnertime. 

Santa, his wife, and his son greeted them as if there was nothing odd about not having seen them all day. 

"Are you both enjoying your vacation?" Mrs. Claus asked them as she handed them a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes. 

Jim blushed a bit at just how much fun he'd been having and let Blair field the question. 

"Of course. It's great finally having Jim up here, showing him around, letting him see everything." With that last phrase, Blair turned and smiled and Jim, and the sentinel's blush deepened at the pleasure of seeing the double meaning hidden in Blair's eyes. 

Afraid he might embarrass himself further, Jim looked down and applied himself to his heaping plate of food. If later in the meal he slid his foot over and played footsie with Blair under the table, well, it was just between the two of them, wasn't it? 

After the meal they all decamped to a large, cozy study full of over-stuffed chairs. Jim was listening to Blair and Nicola reminisce when Santa leaned over to him. 

"James, would you step outside with me on the patio?" he said quietly, gesturing to the large wooden doors a few feet away. 

Curious, he followed his host outside and waited patiently as Santa went through the motions of lighting his pipe. 

He was puffing away energetically when he spoke again. "Thank you again for your efforts on our behalf, James. I very much appreciate your willingness to be dragged into an environment so new to you with such grace." 

"It was my pleasure, Nick. I've found this a very . . . magical few days." 

"Good, good," the old man said around his pipe. "And now I have something for you." 

"For me?" 

"Mmmhmm." He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a yellowed envelope. Handing it over, he said, "Do you recognize this?" 

His first reaction was that he didn't recognize it at all, but after a moment, he realized that there was something very familiar about the printing. He looked more closely and realized it was his own, much younger, writing. "My god, this," he checked the postmark. "I wrote this when I was eight." 

"Do you remember what you wrote, James?" 

"I don't, maybe, I think it must've been . . . ." His voice trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase it. 

Santa smiled gently. "You wrote that just a few weeks after your mother left. A very, very difficult time for you, of course. It always makes me so sad when a child wishes for something that is beyond my power to grant, and I remember being particularly distressed the day I got your letter asking for your family back." 

"I, ah. . ." Jim swallowed, having absolutely no idea what to say. 

"I just thought you could use a bit of a reminder, James, of how very far you've come. Of the fact that now, as an adult, you've learned that the best families are the ones we choose, not the ones we are assigned to. I am delighted that you and Blair have found each other at last and that you have become each other's family." 

Feeling rather like he'd just been granted a blessing from on high, Jim slowly realized he been given quite a gift. Two gifts, really: Blair and the knowledge, the certainty, that he finally had a family again. Warmth spread through him at the thought and he smiled back at Santa. 

"Thank you, thank you very much." 

"Oh, don't thank me, my boy; I didn't do anything. You did it all yourself, and judging by how happy you both look, I'd say you've done it quite well, too." 

Jim did a double-take, but he couldn't decide if that benign smile meant Santa had intended the innuendo. Finally, Jim decided that Santa probably knew exactly what he'd just said and focused on not turning bright red, something he was only partially successful at. 

Santa very kindly didn't comment. 

They stood looking down the hill, to the village, and past it to the copse of trees in the distance. 

Once he'd gotten over his embarrassment, Jim realized there was one more thing to say. He patted the pocked he'd just slipped his letter into. "I think I'll show this to Blair once we get home." 

"A good choice, James." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Yes, a very good choice." Santa puffed quietly for a few more moments. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got a bit lost over Mongolia?" 

* * *

A few days after New Years . . . . 

"We got a letter from the Workshop today." 

Jim looked down at the top of Blair's head, where it was resting in its favorite hallow against his chest and under his arm. "Oh, yeah?" 

"Mmmhmm. Christmas Day went well, evidently, with all orders filled and delivered. They've got a new stable manager, Nick said, and evidently they've decided what to do with Jerome." 

"Banishing him to the South Pole?" Jim joked. 

"Nope, Texas." 

"What?" 

"Yep, evidently my uncle agreed to take him on as a ranch hand in his stable." 

"Even knowing what Jerome did?" 

"Guess so. Besides, out in the middle of no where in Texas he's not going to be able to cause any trouble; who's going to believe he's an elf from the North Pole out there?" 

Jim chuckled and became momentarily distracted by the way it made the parts of Blair draped over his torso jiggle. "Serves him right, really," he said finally. 

"Yeah, good solution. Oh, and Nick, Henny, and my grandfather all want to know when we'd like to come up for a visit." 

"Well, how about we talk to Simon, see if we can get some time off in March? I'd like to meet this grandfather of yours, and Nikola owes me a chess rematch." 

"Sounds like a deal, Jim." Blair lifted himself up, making Jim groan a bit as his guide pushed against his chest, but since he got a kiss out of the deal, he decided he could live with the indignity. 

A moment or three later, Jim pulled back. "Hey, speaking of Simon; wonder if he'd believe us if we told him we solved a case without one crashed car or any property damage?" 

Blair shook his head solemnly. "Jim, I hate to say it, but given our track record, I think he'd sooner believe in Santa Claus, man." 

Jim laughed again, and pulled Blair down for another kiss. 

* * *

End Just Us by Aouda Fogg: aoudafogg@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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